


I might have won the battle but I think I lost the war

by tigerlo



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst, Charity trying to process the storm in her head, F/F, Smut, feeeeelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlo/pseuds/tigerlo
Summary: She’s not surprised when the pain doesn’t stop.She’s a fool for ever thinking for a second that it would.Charity and Vanessa and the rest of that scene after the kiss in the kitchen.





	I might have won the battle but I think I lost the war

**Author's Note:**

> This is dramatic and a bit sad and probably riddled with mistakes but here it is, regardless. 
> 
> There are a few vanity minifics on my [tumblr](http://tigerlo.tumblr.com) that aren't on ao3 if you fancy having a read over there, or want to stop by and let me know what you thought of this.

-

 

She’s not surprised when the pain doesn’t stop.

 

She’s a fool for ever thinking for a second that it would.

 

The verdict is written all over the papers, and her so-called family that barely showed up to the trial like they all promised they would are smiling and celebrating, and she can feel everyone taking a collective sigh of relief around her, like it’s over, it’s over, it’s all finally over, and now they can get on with their lives. People look at her, in the pub, on the road in the village, talking quietly about it, like it’s their news too, like it’s not something that belongs _only_ to her.

 

She hates it all. She hates that it’s out in the open, she hates that everyone knows now exactly what happened to her. She hates that they look at her like they know her now too, because of it, but they don’t know the first thing about her. None of them ever have.

 

Vanessa comes close, she comes closer than anyone else in the world, but even she doesn’t understand fully. Not properly. _Now we can live happily ever after_ , like it’s as simple as that. Like the damage of it all washes away as soon as it’s not on the front page of the paper anymore. As if it were so simple.

 

It’s been easy to keep it locked inside her for so long, but the key has been _not_ opening it, keeping everything smothered as tight as she can so not even the smallest bit of light can get in, and now she’s ripped the lid off of pandora’s bloody box it’s all come rushing out too quickly for her to be able to grasp any of it back.

 

Everybody knows, and she feels like she’s drowning in the middle of the day in a dry room because of it, she feels like she’s dirtier than she’s ever been even though no one’s touched her like that for a _long_ time now. Because it’s been easy to imagine it was all just a terrible dream for the last twenty years - all those hands on her, all that rough, arrogant masculinity - but now it’s out in the open and it _happened_ , it’s not a nightmare, there’s proof of it in a flippin’ court record, and she can’t try and squash away a damn thing anymore because the truth of it is staring her in the face on the front of the bloody paper.

 

She lashes out at Vanessa because Vanessa’s closest to her, because she’s stupid and noble and in love enough to stand by Charity’s side as she thrashes about in pain, but she does it because she can’t help herself, too.

 

It’s what she knows best, after all: hurting people, better than anything else, better than breathing anyway. Almost a year of Vanessa’s softness does nothing to quell that when the rage fires hot and angry in her chest again. Years and years and years of damage have been waiting to rip out from under her skin since the day she started stuffing it back in, and as much as she wishes Vanessa could make it all go away, she can’t.

 

Vanessa can do something though.

 

She can’t make it disappear, but she can help Charity suppress it for a while. She can help her dull it long enough for her to try and breathe.

 

“Well, show me then.”

 

Her voice is desperate even though she’s trying to keep it calm, even though she’s trying not to give anything away, because she knows Vanessa will try and stop this if she really knew how lost Charity was in her head.

 

It would be easy to hate Vanessa for making all of this happen, for unlocking this eruption of chaos that she has no way to control, but she knows that she never will. She wouldn’t even if this killed her, because Vanessa’s been the only person in her entire life to want something good for her, to want something just for Charity, and not for her or for the benefit she might see from it too, and deep down she knows that Vanessa pushing her to seek justice has only ever been that.

 

No, she won’t ever hate Vanessa not for that, but that doesn’t mean she’s not angry in some twisted way, that doesn’t mean she’s not _furious_ for the way she feels because of the things Vanessa’s helped her deal with, and she’ll take her frustration out on Vanessa the way she knows so well now. She’ll pull Vanessa to her urgently and demand things from her body that she knows Vanessa will willingly give her, that Vanessa would give her anyway but will give her wholly now, because she knows how urgently Charity needs it.

 

She can never decide when she’s like this, in a rage in her head, in a storm in her heart, whether she needs to have Vanessa more, or needs Vanessa to have her. The latter, she thinks tonight, when Vanessa pulls away from her, lips wet and plump, eyes black. She needs Vanessa to have _her_.

 

Charity’s hands pull roughly at Vanessa’s t-shirt, stretching the fabric cruelly, and she walks backwards until her thigh hits the table in the middle of the kitchen. She doesn’t waste a second before she pushes herself up onto it, her weight landing with a _thump_ that makes the half-full wine glasses jump against the wood. Vanessa has a look of wariness in her eyes as she takes her place between Charity’s thighs at Charity’s beckoning, but she doesn’t say anything, not after she finds what must be a desperate plea in Charity’s screaming something like _please don’t make me stop, Ness, please don’t make me talk anymore, you know this is what I need instead_.

 

So Vanessa doesn’t question her. Vanessa doesn’t stop, she doesn’t pause, she just keeps kissing Charity, her tongue as hot and hungry and desperate as Charity’s, and Charity realises after a moment that Vanessa probably needs this too - a rush of pure physicality where they don’t overthink every tiny thing - as much as she does.

 

“That front door had better be locked, because I’m not stopping for hell or high water if I start now,” Vanessa says as her hands hurry to the button of Charity’s trousers, and there’s an urgency in Vanessa’s voice that Charity hasn’t heard in _months_ now that makes her feel like her whole body is on fire.

 

It never worked in the way she always thought it might, the idea that when the right person touched her it would erase all the bad memories like wet ink under water. It had always been her version of the glass slipper, you see, that one day someone would kiss her and she’d never feel broken or poor or cheap, again.

 

She knows now that she’ll be fractured forever, that this feeling of grit under her skin will never go away, but while no one’s touch will ever truly fix her, Vanessa’s comes pretty bloody close.

 

Her hands push Charity’s blazer off her shoulders, grabbing fistfuls of her top up and out of her pants so she can slide her hand between their bodies instead. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, looking to Charity with wide eyes, her hand brushing over the bare skin of Charity’s stomach, her fingertips twitching over the lace of the lingerie that Charity had put on not a half hour ago, on the off chance that Vanessa might have wanted to do just this tonight.

 

She knows it’s just artifice, the extra faff, that Vanessa wants her in sweats or in her nightshirt just as much as she does in expensive knickers, but there’s something special about her wanting Charity wearing something like this too. It’s validating, that Vanessa wants Charity even when she dresses like the ghost of the woman she used to be, the one that used to beckon anyone who she could profit from into her bed, that Vanessa doesn’t just want the _good_ version of her.

 

Vanessa wants all of her, she always has, and Charity both loves and hates her for it.

 

She hates her because it’s easier sometimes, it has been, to just think she’s simply unlovable - by everyone, her own children included. It’s a kinder way to look at her past, to think it’s just the way things work: Charity Dingle doesn’t get love, or loyalty, it says so here carved in stone, hidden away somewhere she can’t see. It’s easier to think that than to face up to the truth that every single man who’s ever come to her in lust or wanting has betrayed her, in some way or another, of their own accord. It’s less painful to think they had no power in it, that it was just fate dealing Charity her hand.

 

But there’s no magic book dictating all the rules, there are only cruel people and their ugly decisions and the consequences that only ever seem to stick to some. There’s only the realisation that she _has_ been loveable all along, only nobody ever really wanted her.

 

She hates Vanessa for ruining that idea, for showing her the difference: of what it is to have someone want her for _her_ , without expecting anything in return. She _hates_ her.

 

Because what if one day, Vanessa leaves.

 

What if one day she goes and she takes Charity’s heart and her hope with her, and Charity has to pretend for the rest of her miserable life that she hasn’t just lost the only good thing that ever came to her of its own free will. She has Ryan now, and Debbie, and the young boys, but they’re different. They have to be here, in one way or another, she brought them into being in her own selfishness, but Vanessa: she was always only _ever_ here by choice.

 

It’s that which she loves Vanessa for of course, for seeing the good in her when no one else ever bothered, for believing her, for offering her loyalty and kindness as simply as she breathes. For her knowledge, all of it, of all Charity’s sins, and the love that she has for her regardless. For understanding why Charity lashes out, for staying when she does instead of running, or instead of striking back like others have.

 

For kissing her instead of taunting her. For understanding when Charity can’t articulate what she needs in words anymore, for offering her the openness of her own body, and for reciprocating in kind.

 

“Waiting for an audience, are you?” Charity asks Vanessa, and she can’t help the bite in her voice, hoping that Vanessa won’t take any of this too far to heart before she can apologise in the middle of the night with her hands soft and pleading over Vanessa’s back.

 

“Waiting for you to tell me how much you want me, too,” Vanessa says with a challenging smirk, and Charity feels a rush of heat climb up her back. Because she knows how Vanessa looks at her across every single room, she knows how much truth there is to Vanessa’s words _never known you look anything but_ , but hearing evidence of that desire, a desire so pure compared to everything else she’s ever known, it’s _special_.

 

“Maybe you should feel that for yourself,” Charity replies, taking Vanessa’s hand and pushing it without ceremony between her thighs. She can taste Vanessa’s gasp against her lips when she feels how wet she is, and that only encourages her on, pushing her fingers against the back of Vanessa’s, playing with her own desire through Vanessa’s touch. “Unless you want me to do all the work.”

 

Vanessa scowls heavily at her but she kisses Charity hard regardless, her teeth nipping sharply at Charity’s bottom lip before her tongue pushes past Charity’s, her free hand snaking its way up Charity’s back, curling around the nape of her neck, holding Charity firmly against her lips until neither of them can breathe. She doesn’t falter with the movement of her other hand either, rubbing wide circles against Charity’s core, her fingers quick and clever, drawing a sharp enough moan from Charity that she takes her own hand from her trousers to grip the edge of the table until her knuckles are white.

 

She’s glad Vanessa doesn’t try to lie her back on the table, because she can cling to her closer like this once Vanessa really begins. She wraps her legs around Vanessa’s backside, one arm draped over Vanessa’s shoulders, the other still clutching the wood so tightly her forearm burns furiously as Vanessa’s pace builds. It’s useful though, it makes it easier for her to push against Vanessa’s hand when her fingers slip lower and start fucking Charity properly, it makes it easier for her to push onto Vanessa’s fingers, urging her into a quicker pace.

 

Vanessa’s head is buried in the crook of her neck when Charity starts moaning breathlessly, not bothering to suppress a single syllable of sound, the recklessness spilling out into everything, consuming her completely. She’s waiting for Vanessa to tell her to keep it down, or kiss her to smother the sound, but she doesn’t do a damn thing, and that only spurs Charity on, rocking messily to meet Vanessa’s thrusts.

 

“More, Ness,” Charity growls, pulling back the curtain of hair hiding Vanessa’s face, bending back slightly to catch Vanessa’s eye before she crashes their lips together. “Harder,” she groans when she feels a third finger stretch her, dropping her forehead onto Vanessa’s shoulder when Vanessa starts to push into her with the full strength of her arm.

 

They must look like animals, the pair of them, rutting on the kitchen table like teenagers, but this is who she is, at the end of the day, this is who he’s always made her feel: nothing more than a cheap, quick shag, not even good enough for a bed.

 

There’s something different about being here with Vanessa though, because she feels like Vanessa’s pulling her apart at the seams, like she’s completely lost to the multi-armed wave of pleasure moving up her spine as Vanessa’s fingers curl and her thumb brushes her clit gracelessly, but she feels anchored here in way she’s not felt before.

 

Her mind wanders, but she brings it back to the present now in a way she never used to, because Vanessa is safe, Vanessa is _hers_ , Vanessa looks her in the eye, Vanessa _wants_ her.

 

She turns her head and captures Vanessa’s mouth against hers when she comes, sighing down into Vanessa’s lungs, abandoning her hold on the table, bunching her hand into the fabric at Vanessa’s lower back as she pushes Charity through her orgasm and straight into another. Her nails bite into the skin of Vanessa’s neck where she holds them together and Vanessa hisses at the pain, but she doesn’t slow for a second, not until Charity stops rocking against her hand, her body going completely slack against Vanessa’s when the last of her release melts out of her fingertips.

 

She drops her head into the crook of Vanessa’s neck as she tries to catch her breath, putting all of her weight forward onto Vanessa’s body and into her arms, her cheeks reddening silently when she feels Vanessa readjust her position to support the shift in weight. She knows it might seem like she takes it for granted, how effortlessly Vanessa is there for her, and she knows she doesn’t tell Vanessa enough, but she doesn’t, and she never, ever will.

 

The haze is starting to fade from her vision as Vanessa shuffles slightly, slipping her hand from Charity’s trousers, her thumb sweeping over the bare skin of her hip in an unmistakable brush of intimacy that makes Charity feel vaguely guilty for making Vanessa get her off so shamelessly. For bringing her down to her level, again.

 

It’s those tiny moments that polarise Vanessa from her previous relationships though, more plainly than anything else does, when she takes the time to remind Charity that this is _more_ than just sex. It’s only a gentle nod to their connection, and Vanessa never expects them to be acknowledged - Charity’s not even sure she realises she does it half the time - but sometimes Charity feels like a bad person for forgetting to do the same.

 

It’s never because she doesn’t want to either, because it’s always been more than just sex with Vanessa no matter how hard she tried to deny that in the beginning, but old habits die hard, and the ones that let her alive for years, die harder than others. It’s a physical effort not to shut herself off the second her breathing calms and that mist fades because it had been a defensive reflex for _so_ long, but she’s getting better at it.

 

Well, she’s trying, at least.

 

Vanessa’s chest moves slowly against hers, calmly, and it’s easy to let her breathing fall into step, to nuzzle into the soft, familiar scent of Vanessa’s neck when Vanessa’s hands settle gently over her hips. She knows Vanessa will have schooled her face by now, hiding whatever concern she undoubtedly feels, but Charity’s not quite ready to look her in the eye yet, content to bask in warm ignorance for a second longer.

 

“That’ll be the cab,” Vanessa says weakly, sliding her hands around Charity’s back when the _toot_ of a car horn breaks the sound of their paired breathing.

 

“Bugger the cab,” Charity growls, unsurprised by the roughness of her own voice, leaning back and kissing the frown off Vanessa’s face before she can object, because the outside world doesn’t have a touch of attractiveness anymore. “Bugger town,” Charity sighs, shaking her head, “just take me upstairs, Ness. I don’t want anything else.”

 

-


End file.
